Ode to Obituary: The Last Man Standing
by annyenil
Summary: 6th Installment of the Ode to Obituary series. Yumichika and Ikkaku's story. What happened before the first time shinigamis died? Life before death, life after death, is there a connection beween?


Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach

**Ode to Obituary**

By annyenil

**Madarame Ikkaku **and **Ayasewaga Yumichika** sat next to each other under a tall oak tree with its shadow extending out to the skyline, meeting the horizon at the very far end of its edge. Ikkaku shrugged his shoulders and stretched his arm. The soreness in his muscles had persisted very obdurately. It had not mattered much to him, of course, because pain was a bodily matter, and it was something he was completely able to cope with. But Yumichika had wanted to stay and rest awhile so that the perspiration on his face would dry off and his hair would not plaster to his shiny cheeks in that _ugly_ manner.

It had been quite awhile since they first met. Ikkaku insisted that they had met on a Thursday, but Yumichika insisted it was Wednesday, because Wednesday was more beautiful than despicably disgusting Thursday. So Ikkaku just made sure that he knew the truth while Yumichika could go on and on. He had learnt not to interfere with Yumichika's beauty-related idiosyncrasies, as much as Yumichika knew never to interrupt Ikkaku's fights.

They had met through a fight. Ikkaku used to live in an isolated village in Nagoya, where the mountains ran along straits of green, converging with the deep azure sky at its midline. It was a beautiful place, but the people weren't so beautiful. The villagers were a belligerent bunch. Verbal taunting and physical duels, they enjoyed keeping lively by being choleric and fighting, fighting all day long. Ikkaku was a strong boy. And he had very much beaten up every single kid in the village. The kids referred to him as the King. He was the King of the kids.

And then came Yumichika. That disdainful girly boy whom everybody crowded around. He thought he was all that, but he wasn't. Little Ikkaku was more than annoyed when he called out to his followers and nobody came, everybody crowding the new city boy who came staring down at everyone with his nostrils and flipped his hair like a girl. At first glance, Ikkaku knew, he just knew that they were going to be enemies for life. It was meant to be that way. Because the first thing uttered from Yumichika's red lips were, "Gosh, you are so _ugly_." He held up a hand to cover his mean, condescending chuckle as the enraged Ikkaku lunged at him, waving fists and kicking up sand.

The children watched intently as the sand swirled up a tornado and then slowly, gradually dissipated. They had expected the poor new pretty boy to be quite crunched up by Ikkaku's strong fists. Much to their surprise, Ikkaku had plunged at him, all ready to pummel away, but his opponent merely held out a hand and gently tugged his incoming hit, and there went the King, plummeting to the ground. It was Madarame Ikkaku's first defeat, but it wouldn't be a last. He stood up from the muddy ground, patting the dust and soil of his greasy shirt and pants. His eyes were sparkling, sparkling with excitement. He glanced up, and all the children curled in fear, their finger crossed for the new boy. To their surprise, Ikkaku grinned, he grinned a wide, happy and truly sincere grin stretching his lips across his round, shiny face.

"What's your name, Sissy?"

"Why should I tell it to you, Bald-and-Ugly?"

"Because if you don't-"

"I am Ayasegawa Yumichika." The boy gripped Ikkaku's arm and dashed off with him, running into the village forest nearby to play. They talked, inquisitive about each other, for the entire afternoon. Ikkaku had never been this flabbergasted in his life, the city outside, the contentious world outside, how he coveted for a chance to challenge the greatest, to challenge the world.

"Are we friends for life?" young Yumichika asked Ikkaku.

"I don't know."

Yumichika had to admit, Ikkaku wasn't as ugly as he had thought. After a few days with him, he had begun to think that the village was the most beautiful place in the world, and that Ikkaku had the most beautiful soul in the world. After himself of course. The world had left him dissatisfied with the meager amount of beauty it could offer. It simply wasn't enough to even barely fulfill the requirements of Yumichika's eyes. He wanted perfection, every eyelash, every strand of hair. He thought Ikkaku had that trouble saved because there was no hair to be ugly about.

"C'mon, polish it!" Yumichika would say, chucking a washcloth at Ikkaku.

"Why should I?"

"Because if you don't, you get ugly!" Yumichika would persist until Ikkaku finally sighed and grabbed the washcloth reluctantly, scrubbing lightly at his own shiny head begrudgingly.

"Let's go fight the world." Ikkaku told Yumichika.

"I will go with you."

"Let me do the fighting."

"But-"

"I am the stronger one!"

Yumichika couldn't argue. After their first encounter, Ikkaku had never been defeated by him again. But Ikkaku had never fought with him again since either. He merely shrugged and followed, faithfully, heartily. Not a word of vow was spoken, but they both knew, they both knew that they were meant to be friends for life. It was just meant to be. The city was enormous, howling and bustling. Their eyes opened wide at the world that Ikkaku had never seen, that Yumichika had forgotten. They plunged into the underside of the urban dark lanes.

The first fight Ikkaku fought in the city, he had won, but he was annoyed, more annoyed than ever. It had been a big surly man with solid muscles twice the size of Ikkaku. He had no fear, he had regard, and he knew he could win, if he had wanted an easy time. So he decoyed a little, he fooled around a little. Complacency had its price, and being careless, Ikkaku was slashed across the back with a deep cut, blood seeping out slowly. Immediately, Yumichika rushed to his side and defeated their large opponent. He dressed Ikkaku's wounds, but there was a tense silence between them.

"I fight alone."

"But he injured you."

"I told you, I could handle it."

"Fine." Yumichika sighed and slumped next to Ikkaku, his eyes fixed on the ugly lump that was their opponent, his chest heaving up and down. Ikkaku couldn't help but notice that Yumichika was slightly injured because of his own selfishness. He felt sorry, but did not know what to say. He leaned back against the wall, his heart prancing about, and his thought skipping away. What could he say? His desire to fight was too great to be understated. If Yumichika couldn't understand, then perhaps it was best that they part.

"Are we friends for life?" He turned arduously, nursing his back.

"I don't know." Yumichika glanced up from the silence.

The next day, they went about like as though nothing had happened. Ikkaku fought, he fought like nobody's business. He fought like as though he was once again King. He was King of the world. Of course, sometimes Yumichika would get to finish off a few other contenders, but Ikkaku always, always got the more powerful opponent. Yumichika gave them to him as a token of friendship. In return and appreciation, Ikkaku diligently polished his head everyday without fail.

Madarame met his match one day. He was a formidable man with a sinister smirk on his face that never reached the eyes and a tattoo that said "Revenge". He had several scars across his face and over his chest. His muscles were bulging out like obstinate little molehills. Yumichika stood, he stood behind Ikkaku, watching calmly, without a single word, as Ikkaku got pounded, pulverized, and beaten out of breath. Ikkaku lay on the ground, panting.

"Given up yet, nĩno?" The man smirked and glanced at his filthy fingernails, his eyes glistening with depravity.

"Never!" Ikkaku unsteadily stood up again, throwing a glance at Yumichika, and saw that his face was smooth, concentrating but without a strand of emotion. _Thank you, Yumichika_. Ikkaku murmured to himself and stood up tall. _For believing in me._ He summoned all the strength he could acquire in his body and drew a one last punch into his opponents face.

Time stood still. Time stood still as the man fell into a puddle of water, drops of rain began dripping. Bystanders had dissipated. Ikkaku grinned as he, too, fell to the ground. Swiftly, Yumichika hoisted Ikkaku's arm over his shoulders and they walked together to a shelter, bathing in the rain that washed away their doubts and cleared their hearts. Ikkaku was triumphed. He wouldn't stop talking about it even in his bed where he lay for a few days, immobile from the injuries.

"Can I not polish my head?"

"No."

"But I have a wound there."

"No."

"Fine." Ikkaku grumbled and picked up the washcloth, gazing at the dimmed light on the ceiling. The fan was spinning slowly, and no wind came from it. It was a quiet night, and the rain continued outside, soaking through foliage, washing away soil in tides. The sound was perpetual, it had a sense of eternity to it, like as though each minute, each second was being expanded, stretched like a rubber band.

"Are we friends for life?" Yumichika stirred in the silence.

"I don't know."

Nobody knew why the rain never stopped. But as it kept raining, their next opponent approached them soon, with an even more nefarious air than ever. He had come to avenge his dead body. Yumichika glanced out through the window, and snuck a peek at Ikkaku. Sure, he was deadpan in slumber. Shiftily, he crept out of the room and shut its doors.

"What do you want?" Yumichika raised a suspicious eyebrow at the man before him. He had the ugliest face Yumichika had ever seen in his life. The nose was twisted in more than one angle, the eyes slit and slanted. The mouth was large, anomalously large with teeth that were embedded like hurricane blown decaying flowers in a bed of bloody, soiled gum. And the hair, the hair that plaster to his face was ugly, pure ugliness of a brownish-yellow hue with grey streaks that highlighted the _ugliness_.

Yumichika closed his eyes and cringed in disgust.

"I had come for revenge. Where is the man who had killed Daibu?"

"I have no idea."

"C'mon, pretty boy," he cracked open a lopsided smirk, "I know he's in there. Now let me past."

"No, I won't."

"Aye, pretty boy, don't force me to-"

Before another word could escape the man, Yumichika had already lunged at him, striking a blow right in the middle of that distorted visage. _Perhaps this would straighten it up a little_. Yumichika mused to himself as he pummeled at the man's face without clemency. The man hadn't stood a chance against Yumichika. Yumichika wasn't strong, but he was skilled. The man didn't stand a chance. He didn't, at least until he pulled out a knife and stabbed into Yumichika's chest, straight and square.

Yumichika's eyes opened wide in shock as he collapsed to the ground, trembling and kneeling, refusing to give up, still swinging his arms ferociously at the man before him. There was no way he would let Ikkaku be harmed. There was no way he would let the man through! "You have to go through me first!" Yumichika supported himself from the wet ground again, his hair and cloths drenched, but his heart blazing with fire. He wavered unsteadily, still striking at the man, making mere scratches to the skin while he himself suffered punches to the eye and limbs. The knife was still sticking out in his chest. The pain was intense, but it was ignored completely. Yumichika had more important things to care about then. He was only vaguely aware that the knife couldn't be taken out, because if it were, the blood would burst out, and Yumichika was finished.

The man knew that as well, and reached out a greedy, depraved hand to pull out the knife in Yumichika' chest. Yumichika closed his eyes as a hand laid weight on his lifeline and tugged, a shot of pain penetrated through his every fibre of being. But the knife stayed, and the brownish red liquid oozing had not burst out. His lungs were bursting with fire, his heart weakening with time. He opened an eye to see Ikkaku, Ikkaku had cut off the man's arm.

"What did I tell you, Yumichika? I will do the fighting." He gave him a thumbs-up and smiled confidently. "I will finish him off in a second." Ikkaku slashed away, ignoring the man's pathetic howls. He was true to his word, the man was on the ground, motionless within seconds, his face smeared in a nasty concoction of flesh, blood, mud and rainwater. Each drop of rain carried away a bit of blood, and a bit of soul, washing away deep into the ground.

Yumichika smiled at Ikkaku. Then, Ikkaku, too, collapsed onto the ground holding his old wounds. Blood was seeping through as well. The two lay motionless next to each other, watching the rain fall from the sky, slowly, gradually blurring their vision. Yumichika breathed and pulled out the knife in his heart with determination. It was indubitable, they were both at the end of the world. It was over. They watched their own chest heaved up and down, finding it peculiar that all sensations of agony had been transcended.

"Are we friends for life?" Ikkaku panted, his breathing becoming heavier. He could count his heartbeat now, and they were scarce.

They lay side by side, motionless. Slowly, their lives came to a standstill.

"Yes. We are friends for life." Yumichika rolled his head to the side and spoke, a faint smile painted on his face.

_And the life after, and the life after, and the life after, and the life after……_

* * *

_Just in case anyone's wondering, the man who said "nĩno" has nothing to do with the man whose name rhymes with Spaghetti. If you don't know about it, my advice is, don't ask._ Please review!


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